


Yes

by Lykegenia



Series: Rosslyn Cousland [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Boobistair, Confident Alistair, Desk Sex, Doggy Style, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Touching, Foreplay, Intimacy, King Alistair, Loud Sex, Marriage Proposal, Neck Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sort Of, but i'm nice, self-indulgent nonsense, there was meant to be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/pseuds/Lykegenia
Summary: Alistair proposes. Things get steamy.





	Yes

**Author's Note:**

> There was originally a lot of angst at the beginning of this chapter, but you guys don't need that and the smut was more important. There's a minor reference to one of my other fics, But They Would Live, as this takes place in the same canon-divergent AU

“Rosslyn Cousland, love of my life, warrior goddess… will you marry me?”

Unexpected, the words sent of a tingle of heat to the ends of Rosslyn’s fingers. Moments before, they had been sitting in the quiet evening of Alistair’s study, listening to the crackle of fire in the hearth and the autumn gale howling outside as they went through the day’s paperwork. Then, after hours of sitting in comfortable silence, he had risen, stretched, asked her out of the blue if she remembered the question he had asked her at the Landsmeet.

“I remember the question you _forgot_ to ask me,” she had teased, when she remembered.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never. Why do you ask?”

He had fiddled with the carved head of the mantelpiece, and her heart has stuttered. “It’s been a while since then… so many things are different now…”

And then, as her fear mounted and she braced herself for rejection, he had knelt before her and _asked_.

Now she stood numb. Her mind tried to find a joke, a way to ease the sudden tension in the room, but it scrambled for purchase in the shock, and the reassurance and the joy and the wanting tangled in her throat so she wouldn’t have been able to get the words out anyway. She could only nod, and when Alistair rose from one knee, hope springing like sunshine to his face, she grabbed the front of his shirt and brought his mouth crashing to hers.

He reacted instinctively. Strong arms slid around her waist as she pressed every ounce of affirmation into the kiss, letting him feel her smile, the inviting part of her lips and the flick of her tongue. A helpless whine rumbled in the back of his throat as he pushed back against her, matching her enthusiasm, her heat, stroking fingers up the back of her neck to thread into her hair, and it was her turn to whimper. When he pulled away, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth, his grin was as brilliant as she had ever seen it.

“Was that a yes?” he checked, resting his forehead against hers with a playful nudge of his nose.

She giggled, caught his chin between her palms, angled her lips to steal another quick kiss. “Yes.” And again. “Yes, I will marry you. If only so no one else can have you.”

A thumb brushed over the pout on her lips. “Dear lady, why do think I’m asking _you_ to marry _me_?”

She giggled again, irresistibly, drawing him down to her mouth. The kiss this time was gentler, embers instead of flames, the slow slant of his lips against hers heating through her limbs, narrowing her consciousness until all that concerned her was the glide of his tongue, the molten trail of his fingers running small circles on the back of her neck. Her chest, heavy with the throb of her heart, crushed against his as she wound her arms around his neck, jealous of even the smallest lick of space between them. When he groaned and answered with a slow roll of his hips, she arched higher against him, pulling him with her until the edge of the desk dug into the flesh of her thigh.

Now trapped, she could do nothing but mewl when he rocked against her again, teasing, grinning because of the way he could leave her gasping without even the need to touch her skin. She needed to touch his, or she would burn.

“H-here?” he choked as her hands went to work on the knot that held his collar closed.

“Mhmm…” came the absent reply. Robbed of his lips, she pressed kisses along the exposed lines of his neck instead, and delighted in the way his larynx bobbed under her attentions.

“I – _ahhh_ – I had a ring upstairs.” The words vibrated through his skin, against where her tongue laved the hollow of his throat. “I meant to –”

She grazed him with her teeth. “ _Hush_. Give it to me later.”

Finally having freed the accursed knot, she quested under the edges of his shirt, startling a sigh from him when the cool tips of her fingers brushed the fevered line of his collarbone. The twitch of his hips held less control this time, and his own hands had wandered to the ties that kept her garments decent.

“Someone could walk in,” he tried, even as he popped the first button and fell upon the second.

“Would you mind?” she teased, though she pulled back a little and halted her fingers on the clasps of his jerkin, waiting on his answer. The sudden spark of the idea sent a thrill striking through her muscles, a primal desire to have someone discover them, to _see_ how Alistair claimed her, pleasured her, found his release buried in her heat – but perhaps that was just the lingering uncertainty fogging her thoughts, the niggling voice that reminded her of Eamon’s attempts at matchmaking –

He cut off the thought with a growl. His mouth was on her, a scrape of teeth and the dart of his tongue, his hands no longer gentle as he pulled at the laces of her surcoat, though the effort was hampered by the firm press of his body against her, seeking friction and heat and the silk of her bare skin. Another growl when she fumbled with the last catch of his jerkin and pushed the offending thing from his shoulders. One sleeve caught on his arm and hung there, ignored.

“Leave it,” he commanded, dragging his lips along her jaw.

Air left her lungs in a breathless chuckle. “If I’d known that suggestion would get you this excited – _oh!_ ”

Alistair grinned at the noise and squeezed her breasts again, unable to resist the temptation with the neck of her surcoat hanging wide, even as the rest of him strained to have her closer, with nothing between them but sweat and heat, and the sound of their breath.

“Maybe I just miss all those nights in our tent,” he rumbled. “Keeping our friends awake for _hours_ at a time.”

The last clasp of her garment surrendered to his hands.

“You’re awful,” she managed. His fingers danced under the hem of her shirt.

“You love it.”

“I love _you_.”

Tenderness bloomed his eyes to match her own. His fingers stilled. They often did this, found assurance in the midst of their passion; the little boy lost and the girl who had everything stolen away. He leaned in, met soft lips with a kiss, traced the smooth planes and cords of muscle up her back as he drew the shirt over her head, smirked at the desperate murmur of his name.

“I love you too, _minx_ that you are.”

“‘Minx’, is it, Husband-to-be?” she chided in his ear.

His fingers hooked into the top of her breast band to pull it down, to expose her to his mouth and the sweet torture of his tongue, but her legs tightened about his waist, kept him pinned.

“I like the sound of that.” A thumb flicked over the pinched crest of a nipple, jerking her hips against the hard rut of his cock. “And I like the sounds you _make_ , just for me.”

“W-what sounds?” she challenged when he repeated the action, harder this time.

His deliberation hummed across her skin. Almost without noticing, Rosslyn found herself lifted onto the desk, heard the dull wrinkle of papers scattering and ignored the voice that told her they would have to reorganise them all later. There were more important things, like divesting Alistair of his shirt.

He caught her wrists and pulled them from their goal. “I want you _loud_ , Rosslyn, so that everyone in the palace knows exactly what we’re doing.” His weight bore down, looming, pressing her into the pitted wood of the desk, entirely possessive in the way he pushed her arms above her head. “I want them all to know you’re going to be my _wife_.”

They had played this game before. He liked her stretched out beneath him, liked to feel the arch in her spine and the strong flex of her legs against his back and know it was his attentions driving her loss of control.

“There are more – _ah_ –” the sharp thrust against her sex, betrayal of own his want “– more conventional ways of making that announcement…”

Again the long press of his cock, richer for the way the contact made him groan into her neck, sweeter for the tremor that surged through her.

“I think… I like this better – and I’d hate to deny either of us the _pleasure_.” He punctuated the word and she whined, tugging at where he still held her pinned, her grip clenching on empty air with the need to touch, to send him as mad as he was making her.

“ _I’m going to get you back for this_.”

“Mmmhm?” The answer, muffled as he trailed the length of her neck with his tongue. The way he moved over her, poised just beyond reach with that last layer of fabric trailing between them, teasing, rasping over the hardened peaks of her breasts –

“Take that damned shirt off,” she growled – or tried to. “Before – before I change my answer.”

A slow chuckle curved along her ear, defying the emptiness of the threat.

“As my lady wishes.”

His lips skipped across her skin, everywhere he could reach. The hold on her wrists slackened and withdrew along her sides, over the swells of her breasts and the band still tangled around her middle. Impatient hands grasped at the back of his shirt as he set on the knot, the sight lost in the rustle of cloth and a muted growl as she drew it over his head.

She barely had time to savour the adorable mess it made of his hair before he bore down again, settled above her, lapped her breast into his mouth and _sucked_.

Papers scattered away from under her. She writhed. She whined. She snatched at his biceps, his hair, anywhere she could reach to try and ground herself against the onslaught of his tongue and the light it sent fizzing through her limbs.

“Yes, love,” he purred, kissing his way across her chest. “Let them hear you.”

Incapable of speech, she raked nails into his back. The muscles bunched under her touch, teeth nipped at stiff, pebbled flesh, involuntary twitches seeking relief as his attention descended to the laces of her breeches. She bucked into his hand as he ripped the fabric away and dipped his touch beneath her smallclothes.

His groan cascaded down to her marrow. “Already so wet for me, love?”

“Are – are you surprised?” she chuckled breathlessly, arching into the stroke of his fingers. “ _Oh_ I want you.”  

The weight of Alistair’s body vanished in a kiss. A complaint rose to Rosslyn’s lips, but he only moved away to hook his fingers into the hem of her loosened breeches and strip them away, smalls and all from her long legs, leaving her completely naked before him. He swallowed at the sight, pupils blown wide. The future queen of Ferelden lay propped on her elbows on the desk, breath shallow, legs slightly parted, surrounded by official documents and the wild, sweet musk of sex, her winter-grey eyes fogged with lust as she drank in the sight of him. Wanting him.

“Come here,” he murmured, the words catching on the dryness in his throat.

He helped her rise, smirking at her unsteadiness as he tucked a strand of tangled hair behind her ear, and smirking wider still when she leaned closer and let her fingers trail like water down the firm lines of his stomach. His laces were so familiar to her she didn’t need to look down as she unfastened them.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, as her touch became more intimate and his palms grounded themselves on her waist.

“Still wondering how I got this lucky.”

“Flatterer.”

She still worked the knots, though excitement made her hands clumsy. Alistair was broader now than he had been on the road, before the regular training and rich meals of the palace, and now he wrapped around her like a bear, warmth and smooth muscle and a scent like pinesmoke that made her clench and ache to feel him inside her. The same desire pulsed through him – she knew it in the way his mouth latched on to her pulse and his own fingers trembled as they played across her spine, drawing ticklish notes from deep within her chest that made him smirk.

Finally she had him loose. His cock sprang free and bobbed hard and hot against her navel, already glistening, and the way he bucked into the sensation told her how close he was to losing himself.

“We should probably do something about that,” she purred, making sure to feel the tension in his thighs as she pushed his breeches to his knees. Any further down and she would be able to take him in her mouth and make him come that way, but his hand flashed down and pulled her up, and she realised he had something else in mind.

A gentle brush of lips across her knuckles – a spin like the first remigold they ever danced – and then he bent her forward over the desk, his weight at her back, unable to resist dropping a kiss against her shoulder even he rutted against the swell of her arse. They both groaned at that, and her breathy laugh was all the encouragement he needed to do it again.

“ _Alistair_ …”

His hands roamed down her sides, one locking in to the point of her hips while the other sought out the crease between her legs and found her already slick and hot and so sensitive she jumped at his lightest touch. Ready for him. Anticipation stole his breath; the way she moaned and arched into him made him bold.

“Imagine if someone walked in on us right now,” he muttered in her ear. A grin as her gaze flashed towards the door.

She squirmed against him meaningfully, voice wry and unsteady with want. “They’d wonder what you were waiting for.”

Chuckling, he took himself in hand, using her arousal to make himself slick as he pressed against her entrance. “Remember,” he said, placing one final kiss to the back of her neck. “You promised to be loud.”

“I promised no such – _oh!_ ”

She had only an instant to adjust before he withdrew and thrust into her again. She tried to match him, pushing back as he filled her, but his fingers bruised on her hips and he snapped his hips faster and she lost the rhythm to the pleasure of being fucked. Sweat rose on her back, pooling in the hollow of her spine where the cool air licked it away. She tasted salt on her lips, heard the scrape of the desk beneath her and the slap of skin as the pace of their lovemaking increased, as the blissful heat of release started to coil in her belly.

Dimly, she was aware of her voice climbing, crying out encouragement, his name, fractions of words that might have been begging, but even louder was Alistair. He sang her name, panted, groaned as he drove deep again and again and again. Unable to open her eyes, she imagined him, behind her, all broad shoulders and glorious muscle, face tipped upwards to the vaulted ceiling, glowing with sweat in the light of the fire as he came apart.

“Yes – _yes_ –”

He growled as she tightened around him, but didn’t stop. The pace was too much, not enough, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think beyond the feel of his cock, the need to break the cord winding her higher and higher – she could feel it coming –

And then his fingers grazed along her pearl. A few short strokes. She cried out. Lightning raced to her toes, into her fingers, sparking behind her eyes as every nerve contracted to brace against the tide of heat that followed. She heard a curse, whimpered, snatched his hand away from oversensitive flesh and fell blind through each pulse of pleasure until his rhythm faltered and he jerked, caught deep, and every muscle strained with the force of his release. The echoes of the noise he made shook around the room as the effort sank through him and he collapsed, bearing them both still joined to the welcoming support of the desk. It creaked with the last sated rock of his hips, as the final twitches took him, and in the faint afterglow her lip curved in a lazy smile.

A brush of softness up her spine to clear her hair away, the heat of his chest sweat-slick against her back.

“Rosslyn…”

“Was…” A swallow to get her breath back. “Was that loud enough?”

His hand trailed over her arm, shifting them so he held her weight as well as his, the other flat against her stomach, laced with her fingers and coated in her wetness.

“Perfect.” He lipped a kiss along her shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

Still shaky, she turned her head to find him, wanting to feel the press of his forehead next to hers despite the awkward angle and the way sweat plastered her hair against her skin. Laughter bubbled when he nuzzled against her temple, partly for his declaration and partly because of the image she conjured of all the people who wouldn’t be able to look either of them in the face come morning.

Alistair moved first. Brushing a final kiss to his love’s cheek, he disentangled himself and helped her stand, and together they staggered the few steps towards the thick-pelted bearskin rug that lay before the fire, soft and inviting and not nearly half so far away as the bed in Alistair’s room, up two flights of stairs.

“Comfortable?” he murmured, as they shimmied closer together, sharing warmth and space as the sweat cooled on their backs.

“Mmm,” came the dozing reply. “I think I’m growing rather fond of this authoritative side of you.”

“Good. So am I.” He paused, and ducked his head against her neck. “That, uh, wasn’t too much, was it?”

The worry in his voice nudged her from the brink of sleep, and she tucked in under his chin, trying to reassure him with touch that all was well. “It wasn’t too much,” she told him. “I enjoyed it.”

“Oh. Good.”

Their kiss was slow, certain, sated, subtle like starlight as their bodies recovered from the headier pleasure of moments before. When Alistair leaned away, it was only to return and scatter pecks over every inch of her face and tug her closer at the waist, stretching to reach as much skin as possible while she playfully fended him off with curled fingers and scrunch-nosed giggles. When her heel knocked against the hearthstone, she hissed at the pain and broke into a louder fit of laughter that infected Alistair too, and minutes later left them gasping for air, for no reason they could name.

Exhausted, they sank back into bonelessness again, content to let hands and eyes wander, to revel in the simple joy of being able to touch and be touched. Rosslyn’s eyelids drooped, as they often did after sex, but her love’s skin was rimed with golden firelight, rosy under all his freckles with the blush _she_ had put there, and when she glanced up she found his eyes deepened into pools of mahogany ink, the look in them so steady the breath stalled in her lungs. She had to look away, down, to the day’s growth of beard tickling against her palm and the smile creased so softly at the corners as he watched her, as if even after more than a year, he still couldn’t believe she was in his life, in his arms.

She nuzzled her nose against his. “You make me so happy.” She needed to say it, to see the way his face lit up at her words and his reply caught in his throat.

He rolled them, so her arms slid around his neck and his weight settled on his elbows, embraced between her legs. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again.

She didn’t miss the deliberate shift of his hips.

“You know, love,” she said conversationally as she wrapped him closer with arms and legs both, “we should really go upstairs if we’re going to do this again.”

Already sucking a mark into her neck, his only reply was a grunt. She couldn’t tell if it was meant as agreement or complaint, but he pressed into her again and played his knuckles along her ribs, and suddenly she found it very difficult to care. Going to bed meant putting on clothes, and keeping her hands off him until they reached the privacy of his chambers, and the fire here was so warm…

“Didn’t you say something about a ring?” she asked.

The wet slide of his tongue disappeared, replaced by a grin and a light graze of teeth. “I did. Does this mean you still want it?”

She caught his chin and brought his mouth to hers, certainty burning in her heart like a star. When she answered, she didn’t break away, so he would _feel_ the answer on her lips. “Yes.”

“You’re going to marry me?”

She snorted. “Aren’t you convinced yet?”

“Wellll…” he answered, with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows. “I could use a little more, maybe.”

“As my king desires.” And she pulled him down to meet her again.


End file.
